Coup d'IaHB:Demons in my Head 2: My Monster and Me
by Mad Cow
Summary: What happens to Hank in Alexakis? ((*The REAL Sequel to Spotless!*))


I don't own the song. It's My Beloved Monster by EELS. If it sounds familiar, it's because it was in Shrek! Also, if you haven't read Demons in my Head: Spotless, you may want to do that first. In fact, even if you have, you may want to re-read, it'll help you keep Hank's many-siblinged family straight. ;)  
  
_My beloved monster and me  
We go everywhere together  
Wearing a raincoat that  
Has four sleeves  
Gets us through  
All kinds of weather  
_   
  
Hank turned on the windshield wipers, glad that he was in his nice, warm truck. It was December, and even though the temperatures in his part of the Southwest didn't get cold enough to make things bad, it was cool and rainy enough to make him thankful for the heater. However, he soon arrived at Group, and ran out of his car, jacket held over his head, only to discover that he was the first to arrive, and it wasn't unlocked yet. He had headed back to the truck, but it was in vain. Right as he reached his door, a rather junky car that must have been decaying in the 80's sputtered into the parking lot, and out popped Peter from the passenger side when the car slowed down, keys in hand, to unlock.  
The guys slipped into the room, and wiped their feet in the doormat. "Hey," said Hank. "Crazy storm, huh?"  
"Crazy," replied Peter, and attempted to get some of the water out of his hair. Hank ran a hand over his now-shaven head (so he would be more aerodynamic and run faster, of course), glad he didn't have to worry about that anymore.  
Jess entered in after she had finished parking the dinosaur car. She and Peter lived in the same apartment, so they always arrived at the same time. "Think it's time to put that car out of its misery?" ask Hank, breaking into a wide grin.  
"Hah. Hah. And also, Hah. You will not insult my baby in front of me. It's a classic. You're just jealous."  
"Yeah, a classic example of trash-" began Peter, but Jess shushed him.   
"Hank is allowed to talk. He has a truck. You, my car-less friend, are not allowed to speak."  
Peter pouted, and Hank laughed. "It's true," said Hank. "Car-less people are not allowed to complain about the cars that give them rides."  
"I'm an Obsessive-Compulsive complainer," said Peter.  
"You are Obsessive-Compulsive, and you complain, but I happen to know you're in therapy for keeping your sock drawer clean, not for your over-whelming urge to diss Jess' car, junkyard material though it may be," said one of the other group members, Abby, as she entered.  
"You may not talk either," said Jess. "You're a 17-year-old who has to get rides to therapy from your parents."  
"Oh, shove off," said Abby. "You're just jealous of my mom's minivan."

More group members began to trickle in, and the conversation slowly turned from bashing Jess' clunker to more OCD-related stuff, and overall, as far as meetings went, it was a pretty good one.  
***  
The following Saturday night, Hank was sitting at this desk, working on his Euro History homework, when the ding went off signaling that he had received an e-mail. He pulled his mailbox up and opened it, expecting junk mail, only to find that the message was from Jess. He opened the e-mail.  
  
FROM: Jess_Hanrahan@EmailNerd.com (Jess Hanrahan)  
TO: OCDTherapyGroup@e-groups.com (OCD Therapy Group)  
SUBJECT: Peter

  
_ Hey guys, it's Jess. Could someone come over? Peter just went through a bad breakup, and he¡¦s  
convinced it was because of the germs. He's currently  
coating the entire apartment with disinfectant. Any  
longer, and the smell is going to get to me, and I am  
going to start making all of the rooms in the house  
symmetrical. Thanks!_

  
_Love,  
Jess_

  
Hank closed the e-mail and grabbed his car keys. After all, what kind of a friend was he if he couldn't be there for Peter and Jess?  
"Mom!" he called as he left the house. "One of the guys in Group needs my help. I'm gonna go see if I can help out." His mom, thankfully, agreed. She was grateful enough to the group's help to allow Hank to venture out into the night to return the favor.  
The drive to Peter and Jess' apartment was a little shorter than his usual foray. The pair lived closer to Hank than the building where Group met. Hank reached the apartment building, and trudged up the stairs. He knocked, but no reply. He could smell the disinfectant and hear the sounds of furniture being scraped across the floor. So, Hank assumed, Peter was still purging the apartment of germs, and Jess was rearranging the furniture. Great. _Please_, Hank silently hoped, _don't make me have the urge to clean and make things worse._  
He tried opening the door. It was unlocked. He let himself in, only to find the scene exactly as he had imagined: Peter flitting around, wearing his rubber gloves and surgical mask like armor, and brandishing a dishcloth and bottle of disinfectant as his sword and shield. Jess was muttering under her breath, debating if the couch was in the exact middle of the apartment and pushing it around as a girl possessed.  
"Um…hi?" He began. They looked up, and Hank was filled with dread. What was he going to do? He had always been on the receiving end of the talking down, not the sending.   
OK, Objective: Get Peter to stop disinfecting.   
Hank approached Peter. "Peter?" Peter looked up, but kept washing. How was he going to do this? Hank knew forcefully taking away the disinfectant would not help anything, even if he could get Peter to surrender it. Maybe he could just get Peter to talk, get him to get his mind off of cleaning. "Hey, how's it going?"  
"Bad. Dustin's a bastard!"  
"Dustin?" Hank asked.  
"My ex. He's an asshole, and a bastard, and every horrible other word I can think of!"  
Well, besides the fact that Hank had not known Peter was gay until this very moment, the conversation was going nowhere fast, if he was trying to get Peter's mind off of unpleasant things. "So…ah…" What would work? What would get Peter to stop thinking about this? "There's this guy, right? And he's got a carrot in his right ear, and a banana in his left. 'What's the matter with me?' he asks the doctor, and the doctor says, 'You ain't eating properly!' Get it?? No response. OK, next joke. "If April showers bring May flowers, then what to May flowers bring? Pilgrims!" Don't give up hope, Hank…"A man walks into a bar and says 'ouch!'" Peter chuckled a little bit. Success! "What's brown and sticky?"  
"I don't want to know," replied Peter.  
"A stick!"  
Peter laughed again, and pulled down the surgical mask. "Hank, you tell the lamest jokes I have ever heard." He put down the disinfectant. "Thanks."  
"No problem. Thanks for insulting my favorite jokes."  
Peter laughed again, as he opened a window. "If those are your favorite jokes, you need to get out more."  
"I'm an Obsessive-Compulsive bad joke teller."  
Peter finished opening the rest of the windows, and flicked on the fan. He looked over at Jess. "I think if we get her out of here, she'll get over it. It was just the smell and a little bit of a leak over of my stress that was getting to her." He looked at the girl. "Jess, let's go somewhere."  
She straightened the couch a little more. "Where?"  
"There's a late showing of A Beautiful Mind at the discount theatre."  
Jess toyed with the placement of a cushion. "OK."  
"Hank, wanna come?" asked Peter.  
Hank shrugged. "Yeah, sure. Let me call my mom first. My cell's in the truck."  
Within minutes, Hank was seated in the back of Jess' car. "Don't put your hand in any holes," instructed Peter. "The car bites back." Well, that was enough to get Hank's curiosity going. He found a pencil, and stuck it in the space between the seats. He then tried to pull it out, but to no avail. He tugged harder, and the pencil came out with a sucking sound, covered in a brown-ish goo that usually occurs when someone sticks a Coke somewhere and lets it sit in the heat for a month, and trailing thick sticky strands.  
"This is so gross!" Hank commented.   
"This car is all about being able resist the urge to clean/free it from germs/make it symmetrical. That's why it's so horrendous. my car is therapy on wheels," Jess explained.  
About halfway there, Hank was itching to clean up the back, so they had to pull over to let Peter and Hank switch seats. The front was, thankfully, a little cleaner. Not much, but enough that Hank could look out the window and pretend he didn't notice.  
Hank tried to pay for his own ticket at the theatre, but Peter and Jess wouldn't allow it. After all, he had, they maintained, gotten them from turning their apartment into one that was entirely symmetrical and smelled like a hospital ward. They enjoyed the movie. The trio had utmost sympathy and brotherhood for schizophrenics, being victims of a mental disorder themselves.   
By the time Hank returned home, it was in the wee hours of the night, but being able to do all of the things he had accomplished that evening made him feel so good.

_He will always be the only thing  
That comes between me  
And the awful sting  
That comes from  
Living in a world  
That's so damn mean_  
Chapter 2  
Hank took a deep breath one day as he was leaving group. He had been debating doing this for weeks. First it was the debate over himself. _Am I gay?_ Was the main question on his mind for so long, but he had come to terms with the answer. Yes. He had finally admitted to himself that he had never been attracted to any girl nearly as much has he was attracted to Peter. Peter, one of the nicest people he had ever met, and good looking to boot, with his dark hair and deep eyes. It was a full-blown crush. He had accepted it as the way things are. And now, Hank realized, right now, this was the moment. _All or nothing, Beecham._  
"Peter?" Peter turned around. "You wanna…go out sometime?"  
"As in, hang out?" Peter asked.  
Hank shook his head. "As in, out out."  
"You're asking me out?? Hank nodded.

"Yeah," Peter said, smiling. "I'd like to do that."

"Really?"  
"Yeah."  
"Cool."  
The following Saturday, he found himself at dinner with Peter, and before Hank knew what was happening, he was in the middle of a whirlwind modern romance. They would arrive to Group early and stay late, stealing moments for themselves. They settled into going out every Saturday, sometimes to movies, sometimes dinner, sometimes just to sit on a bench somewhere and talk. Because, unlike so many other important people in his life, Peter _understood_.   
And the next thing Hank knew, he and Peter had been "an item" for a month. It was the longest he had been in a relationship before, ever. And he was really, truly happy.  
  
Even though no one in his family had any idea at all.  
  
After two months of sneaking around and telling his family he was going to hang out with some friends, it was getting to be too much. He made the decision to tell Saudia. If anyone in his family would be understanding about this, it would be her.   
He walked in to Saudia's room one evening, and sat on her bed. She, naturally, being the only girl, was allowed her own room, and it was deserted, save Hank and his twin.  
"Saudia?" She looked up from her latest painting.  
"Yeah?"  
"I thought I'd tell you something, and you may think it's horrible and hate me and-"  
She cut him off. "Just tell me."  
He sighed. "Saudia, I'm gay."  
"Tell me something I don't know."  
"What?"  
"Oh, come on. You and Peter, every Saturday night? Give me a break. Besides, I'm your twin sister. I'm supposed to know what's happening in the inner workings of your brain."  
"And it doesn't weird you out or anything?"  
"Hank, if I can live with my brother being OCD, I can live with him being gay as well. It's no big deal."  
"Does anyone else know? Mom, Rew, Alan?"  
"Not to my knowledge. But they'll be cool about it. We're happy to have you back home, Hank. Mom could never hate you for anything, and Rew? The boy may be a skateboarder, but he reads Voltaire. The signature on his e-mail reads 'I may not agree with a word you say, but I'll give my life for your right to say it.' Besides, we're not here to judge. We're your family. We love you whatever you are. "  
He stood up. "Thanks, Saud. I feel a lot better."  
"What I'm here for."

Hank came out to his mother and brothers. As Saudia had predicted, both were fully understanding. In fact, his mother even expressed interest in meeting Peter, which was how Hank found himself seated around the family dinner table one night with Peter plus his family. Peter was on his best behavior, "please"-ing this, and "Yes ma'am"-ing that.

His mom seemed to like Peter, the entire family did, save Alan, who was busy brooding over something. Hank couldn't tell if it had something to do with this, or if he was just in a bad mood.

"So, Peter," began Hank's mom, breaking the ice. "What are you studying?"

"Psychiatry." He replied.

"Peter wants to be a child psychiatrist," spoke up Hank.

Peter nodded. "Growing up, I was so afraid of germs and dirt and such that I wouldn't let anyone touch me. I couldn't even stand to have my mom hug me or anything, and I always wore these rubber gloves. I was so concerned with not letting my feet touch the cracks in tile or on the sidewalk that I was always thinking about just _walking_. I couldn't talk to anyone while I was doing it, because I had to be absolutely, absolutely sure. It was a horrible way to grow up, and want to help obsessive-compulsive kids deal with it."

"You have OCD?" asked Christopher, and Peter nodded.

"Yeah. Mine is really bad. Even though I'm on more pills than I can count on one hand, and I've very vigilant about going to group therapy and therapy with my personal therapist, I still get outbursts often. But at least finding out that I was Obsessive-Compulsive wasn't nearly the traumatic event as it was for my family. Both my parents were Obsessive Compulsive, so when I started showing the signs, my parents knew it right away."

"OCD runs in your family, then?" asked Saudia.

"For me it did. My little brother, Jamie, he's never shown any signs at all. Beyond what you would expect from an especially stubborn person who grew up living with three Obsessive-Compulsive people. He's the lucky one."

Alan pushed his chair away from the table. "Maybe he's not being punished for being queer." He stood up, and walked away.

Peter and Hank exchanged looks as Saudia gasped in outrage. "Alan!" she yelled angrily, but Alan shot her the finger. That was too much for Ms. Beecham, who got up from the table, grabbed Alan by the arm, and pulled him into her bedroom.

"Maybe I should go," said Peter, and got up from the table. 

"Don't leave just because Alan's an asshole," said Saudia.

"No, it's OK," he replied. "See you at Group, Hank."

Hank was still too fuming to speak.

***

Hank lay face-down on his bed, face stuck in a pillow, steaming. "Mom grounded me for two weeks," he heard a voice say.

Hank rolled over. Alan was standing in the doorframe. "Good," spoke Hank.

"I can't believe you're the one that's doing something wrong, and I'm the one being punished for it."

Hank saw red. "Get out of my room," he growled.

Alan took a step back. "There, I'm out."

The older boy paid his brother no heed, retrieved his CD player from the sill, and placed it on his head, drowning out all noise. He shut his eyes as well. Ten minutes later, Hank opened his eyes again. Alan had given up and left. He took off the headphones.

"What was that about?" asked Michael, who was perched on his own bed working on a jigsaw puzzle. "Does Alan not like Peter?"

Hank hung his head. "He doesn't think it's right." He looked over at Michael. "Do you hate me?"

"No, I just think you're weird. But not because of that."

Hank raised an eyebrow. "Why do you think I'm weird?"

"Because you snore like a suffocating moose."

Hank laughed. "Michael, you are my favorite littlest brother!"

"I'm your only littlest brother," reminded Michael.

"You're still my favorite."

***

Hank picked up the phone. "Hello?"

"Hey."

Hank smiled. It was Peter. "Hey yourself. I'm sorry about dinner."

"No, it's OK. I understand. Did you get things worked out?"

Hank sighed. "Alan and I aren't talking."

"I'm sorry. But maybe this will make you feel better: Are you up for a road trip this summer, to Kingsport? I'm due for another family visit, and you can come along. It'll be fun."

Hank brightened. Road tripping to Kingsport would be fun. "Sounds cool."

"Awesome. I talked to Jess, and she and her boyfriend want to come along."

"Sounds fine to me."

"Great! We're going to Kingsport. It'll be an adventure!"


End file.
